She gazes over my shoulder and her eyes go wide. “You had your wolf dream again?” She crosses the room to me and places a warm hand on my shoulder. “Another nightmare,” I tell her, still shaky. Sophie’s eyes catch the moonlight from the window. That’s all.”Ī voice from across the bedroom startles me. “Hey,” I mutter, still shaking away the frightening images. Silvery moonlight floods in through the open window. Forcing away the lingering pictures, the face of the wolf … the anger … the blue eyes. I blink several times, blinking the dream away. My heart skipping up and down in my chest. Tangled in the bedsheet, I tumble to the floor. We bite and claw and bump heads and tear at each other. In my dream, I become the wolf, staring, my eyes locked on the other wolf. The black wolf bares its teeth and utters a low menacing growl from deep in its throat that sounds like choking, like someone spewing. Thick white drool oozes from the sides of its mouth. Our blue eyes meet and lock on one another. And why does it make me so frightened? I’m asleep but I can feel the butterfly flitting of my heartbeats. People have the same dream over and over.īut most people don’t dream of animals with their eyes. And I tell myself in my dream that I’m not crazy.

I have black hair and blue eyes, and I’m dreaming about a wolf with black fur and blue eyes. It lowers its head as if preparing to attack. It grunts and snarls as it trots silently behind me. And that I have good reason.īecause when I turn around … when I take a quick, shuddering glance behind me … the wolf is there.

I’m running barefoot in the wet mud under the low, leafy tree branches. And I know if I turn around, I’ll see it.Īnd even though I know that, I can’t keep from turning back. The moon seems so close in my dream, as if I could reach up and squeeze my hand around it. It looks like a sideways smile, and it reminds me of the silver moon pendant on the chain around my neck. I see the crescent moon in the purple sky above the shimmering trees. I feel the wind on my face, and I hear the whispers all around behind the splat splat of my bare feet, kicking up the mud, sending it splashing like waves on both sides of me. I know that the whispers I hear are the leaves on the trees shivering in a stiff, warm wind.

I run through puddles of cold water, and I can feel the cold even though I’m completely aware that I’m dreaming. I can hear the splat splat splat of my bare feet as they slap the soft, wet ground. In my dream, I’m running through mud, my pale nightgown flapping.

The secret by rl stine